


Apples and Oranges

by lezlies



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezlies/pseuds/lezlies
Summary: Bodie and Doyle are very different and opposites attract--or repel.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Kudos: 14





	Apples and Oranges

A million years of evolution was telling Bodie to move, to finish what the hour of grappling had begun. But he remained still, letting Jane have her pleasure without distractions. He nuzzled her neck as she arched against him, her cry of pleasure low and guttural. The cool, elegant woman he remembered from the beginning of the evening was only a memory. Her careful coiffure was a mess and her make-up smeared, but she didn't look like she minded. He kissed her, reclaiming her attention. She smiled and moved encouragingly under him. The hands that had been so hesitant earlier now traveled aggressively down his back to grasp his buttocks.  
  
The desire he had carefully banked down flared. With a groan of satisfaction he began thrusting, his rhythm strong and paced for his own pleasure. Jane moaned her approval and met his thrusts. Together, they let instinct claim them.  
  
His heartbeat finally slowed down or started again, he couldn't decide which was more accurate. Under the circumstances, the polite thing to do would be move, but he wasn't confident that his still shaky limbs would obey. Since Jane wasn't complaining, he lay still, comforted by the soft body beneath him. Jane was nibbling his chin and her hands moved soothingly up and down his back. Soon, the caresses slowed, then stopped altogether. Bodie pried open one eye. Jane was asleep. Carefully he rolled away only to find himself floundering in midair.  
  
His arm shot out, catching the edge of the coffee table, saving himself from a graceless fall. The couch. He and Jane had ended up on the couch, while Doyle and Karen had ended up in the bed...his bed. He'd told Jane that was the rule when they doubled. At Bodie's flat, Doyle got the bed. What he hadn't told her was that at Doyle's flat, Doyle still got the bed.  
  
Bodie eased himself off the couch and covered Jane with a quilt from the airing closet and settled himself in the easy chair. She was out like a light. He wished sex had that effect on him. As usual, he was wide awake. But it wasn't the annoying wakefulness that sometimes frustrated him. He felt content sitting in his darkened flat. It had been a good evening. Jane had been a cool one. He hadn't been sure she would come across tonight, which had given the evening the touch of mystery he enjoyed. Seduction was definitely fun.  
  
The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He grabbed it before the second ring could wake everyone. Just their luck to get called in. At least it hadn't been before the payoff.  
  
"Don't you have anything better to do then harass...I'm sorry, she's right here." Sheepishly, he covered the mouthpiece. 'Its for you...the hospital.'  
  
Jane groaned. "Tell them I died."  
  
"I'm sorry to inform you that there's been an accide..." Jane grabbed the phone away. He stood there listening to medical mumbo jumbo, feeling like part of the furniture. Next time he'd have more sympathy for the girl he left listening to his one-sided conversations.  
  
"Yes, you did the right thing, I'll be right there," She turned to Bodie. "Duty calls."  
  
Bodie laughed as he remembered the hundreds of times he'd used that line. Jane looked puzzled. "Never mind. No time to explain."  
  
He handed her her clothes, then helped locate a lost shoe. Definitely underdressed, he pulled on his pants and shirt. She paused, looking up at him, keys in hand. Now was the awkward part.  
  
Bodie pulled her close and kissed her chastely on the forehead. "If your patient is a tall, dark, devilishly handsome man who needs stitches, and has the audacity to chat you up, don't listen."  
  
"Not even if he uses the same line you did?"  
  
"Nah, he couldn't be that clever as well." He let her pull away first.  
  
She stopped at the door. "If you need those stitches checked..." She trailed off, looking a bit wistful. "I thought not." The door clicked shut behind her.  
  
Bodie relaxed. For a minute it looked like she was going to be difficult. She was a great lady, but he had no illusions. She'd been slumming and he'd been trying to melt the ice princess. They'd both gotten what they wanted.  
  
The door buzzer sounded. Jane was on his doorstep. "I'm parked in," she said quickly, all business now.  
  
Bodie leaned outside and looked at the cars. Doyle's car was behind Jane's.  
  
"The keys are..." Bodie raised his eyebrows significantly.  
  
"This is an emergency," Jane said pointedly. "Surely, they still can't be..."  
  
Bodie shrugged his shoulders, not hazarding an opinion. The silence grew. "I'll get 'em." he said reluctantly.  
  
Feeling like a ten-year-old boy who knows what Mum and Dad are doing behind the closed door, he climbed the stairs. His bedroom door was ajar. Pausing outside, he listened for signs of life, hoping for silence.  
  
Damn. The soft moans emanating from the bedroom dashed it. The second hope died unvoiced. Doyle, who undressed like Hansel hiking through the forest, had not left his pants, and by inference his keys, near the door. It was time to make a decision. He could have a coughing fit, stomp around, then ask for the keys, or he could make a quick, incisive foray inside rather than interrupting and, thereby, embarrassing the panting duo.  
  
He pushed the door open a few more inches and slipped inside. The bed was on the far side of the room, only the foot of it was visible from this angle. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Unfortunately, his ears adjusted as well...the moans were difficult to ignore. The little bugger was really giving it to her.  
  
He spotted the crumpled pile that looked like Doyle's trousers a few feet further into the bedroom. Bodie headed straight for the pants, snagged them, retrieved the keys, then turned to go. But he stopped as a devilish feeling came over him. What was the harm in a little peek?  
  
He turned back and slowly moved closer, bringing more or the bed slowly into view. The window blind wasn't completely closed, admitting a shaft of light that slashed across the bed. All he could see was a swathe of narrow back. Doyle was apparently sitting up, straddling Karen, rocking gently in rhythm to the moans.  
  
Bodie blinked his eyes. Something wasn't quite right. Suddenly, a thick mane of black hair cascaded down the figure's back. That was Karen up there.  
  
A jolt of pure lust, all the more powerful because it was so unexpected, mesmerized him. Unable to help himself, he moved closer, instinct pulling him toward the wall where the shadows would hide him, where he could make better use of the meager light.  
  
Doyle was flat on his back, his hands clenched in the thick fur of the bedspread, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, his face filled with tormented pleasure.  
  
Karen threw her head back as her intermittent moans became a continuous growl. Doyle's hips thrust up, staying there as their hands met, fingers intertwining. Doyle's eyes opened, making Bodie gasp. He could swear they glowed.  
  
"Now, Ray, come in me now."  
  
Bodie's hips thrust forward, caught in their sexual web. But the fear of discovery gave him the strength to pull free.  
  
Once out in the hall, he leaned weakly against the wall, willing his errant body under control. The echo of the sexual tension still tingled through him when he finally went down the stairs.  
  
"It's about time. I was beginning to think you'd joined them." She pointedly checked her watch.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Bodie snapped. He had almost forgotten why he had gone up there. "Here's the bloody keys." He'd been gripping them so hard that their imprint remained on his palm.  
  
They left together, the atmosphere strained.20  
  
Bodie sat in Doyle's car, watching Jane drive off. He rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to make sense of the last 15 minutes. Not ready to face going back inside, he took a walk, letting the crisp night air clear his mind.  
  
The kitchen light was on when he let himself back into the flat. He went to the kitchen and stood leaning against the doorframe.  
  
"Help yourself, you know where everything is," he said dryly.  
  
Karen jumped and whirled to face him. She was attired in his best powder blue suit shirt, the tails of which barely covered her posterior. Her long legs were bare and the hair he had watched fall down her back was balanced in an untidy twist. "You scared me. I heard the door, then the car, and thought the two of you had gone on to a club."  
  
Bodie hoped he wasn't blushing because he couldn't help wondering if his eavesdropping had been noticed. "You didn't hear the phone?" He relaxed when he saw her bafflement. "Jane got called back to the hospital. I...walked her to her car."  
  
Karen opened his icebox and pulled out the Danish ham and the bread. "You'll be wanting a sandwich, if I remember correctly."  
  
"Nice to know I made an impression." He watched her putter around his kitchen. When she reached for a plate, he almost got an eyeful.  
  
"A woman would have to be dead for ten years to forget you. Grab the tea, Bodie."  
  
Bodie trailed her into the living room where she plopped down on his settee, curling her legs beneath her. Bodie poured the tea, put two sugars in hers, one in his own, then took a sandwich.  
  
Karen ate the middle out or her sandwich, then put the crusts down. "So, Bodie, why did you pretend we'd never met?"  
  
Bodie shrugged. "You could have said something."  
  
"It would have been a bit awkward after you shook my hand and said 'How do you do'."  
  
"I hadn't expected to see you again." That was an understatement. He had no idea that the mystery lady in Doyle's life the last couple of weeks was this Karen. He'd been so curious about the woman Doyle kept nattering on about that he had agreed to double, something he normally didn't do on a first date.  
  
Karen looked puzzled. "Well, I certainly didn't know you were going to turn up, either."  
  
"Bodie isn't exactly a common name."  
  
"I realize that," Karen said with exaggerated patience, "and if I had heard it I would have remembered it." She looked at him humorously. "Did Ray mention my name?"  
  
"Well...yes."  
  
She winked at him. "But there have been a lot of Karens, right?" She laughed then, and Bodie found it easy to join her. "So why?"  
  
Bodie gave up trying to duck the question. "Didn't want to embarrass you, did I?"  
  
Karen leaned toward him, the motion freeing a strand of hair from the twist and whispered conspiratorially. "Ray figured out I wasn't a virgin." She paused, looking at him shrewdly. "But then it wasn't my reputation you were protecting."  
  
Bodie drew back, as much from the implication of her statement as from the aura of her perfume and the glimpse of bare breast where the shirt gapped open.  
  
"Bodie." He looked up, meeting the warm, friendly, brown gaze. "I really enjoyed the weekend we spent together."  
  
Bodie picked up his cup to sip at his tea. It was cold. "Obviously not enough." He had intended the words to sound flip, but he didn't quite succeed. He wasn't used to getting turned down.  
  
"I was looking for something that could grow," she said gently. "Can you honestly say we had a future?"  
  
"But you see one with Doyle?" He immediately regretted the impulsive words. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say that."  
  
She met his eyes steadily. "No, I asked for it. And you're right, I don't. It took me until the other night to realize it, and I'm sorry for it." She reached out for her cup, but not before he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.  
  
"Let me warm that up for you." He went to the cabinet, pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured a liberal amount in her cup. She smiled her thanks and took a sip. Bodie set down and resigned himself to the role of Agony Aunt.  
  
"From the talk at dinner, I take it that you two are partners." She rushed on when Bodie shifted uncomfortably. "I know, you can't talk about it. It's funny, but when you wouldn't talk about it, I assumed, from the mysterious way you referred to it, that it had to be something secret...something James Bondy." She smiled fondly. When Ray didn't talk about it, I thought he was embarrassed, as if he were ashamed of it. I was preparing for the day when he would tell me he was a mortician or something. Seeing the two of you together, I've decided its somewhere in between."  
  
"We're civil servants." Bodie left it at that and refilled both their cups, this time leaving the tea out altogether. They sat chatting, mostly about Doyle, their shared past no longer a stumbling block.  
  
"This is so strange," Karen said at last. "I just slept with Ray in a bed I spent the weekend in with you. I've learned more about him in an hour from you than I have in a month from him." She paused. "But now you want some information, don't you?"  
  
Bodie topped their cups. "Can't think of a thing."  
  
"If I was sober, I'd let the matter drop. But I'm not and I'll probably never see either of you again, so I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
She giggled. "You've been dying to ask me all evening. You'd look at me, then you'd look at Ray, then shake your head, as if you couldn't believe it." Bodie just looked at her, his best bored with it all expression firmly in place. "Admit it, you want to know who's better, you or Ray."  
  
Bodie shifted uncomfortably as his mind re-ran "Debbie Does Doyle". Karen misinterpreted his silence.  
  
"A ha! I knew it."  
  
"Really, I don't want..."  
  
"Shut-up, Bodie." The progress of the cup to her mouth was distinctly unsteady. "It's apples and oranges."  
  
"And you prefer oranges," Bodie opined, drawn in against his will.  
  
"That's too simple. That first evening, I knew you were doing your damnedest to seduce me, but you were so good at it, making me feel special, letting me in on the fun, that I never felt like I was being tricked. And just for the record, not that you don't know this already, but you're a great lover."  
  
"What about Doyle?" He couldn't believe he had actually asked. But she was right, he'd probably never see her again.  
  
"It definitely wasn't seduction, not your style anyway."  
  
"I should think not." Bodie was affronted, and Karen laughed.  
  
"I met him on the dance floor. No time to talk, no romantic dinner. The band took a break and Ray asked if I wanted to go home with him. No pretense, no time to be coy. I guess that's the biggest difference. Ray is more spontaneous, where you spend more time on the buildup." She smiled as if replaying a favorite memory. "But you want the nitty gritty. He's good, he's very good."  
  
She giggled then looked at Bodie as if she wasn't sure she should share the joke.  
  
"If I inherited a million pounds," she continued finally. "I would buy a house with three bedrooms. I'd put you in one and Doyle in another and depending on whether I had a yen for apples or oranges, I'd visit the appropriate room. And once in a while, when I felt very daring, I would make a fruit salad."  
  
Bodie burst out laughing.  
  
Karen's hands covered her face. "I don't believe I said that." She stood up but looked a little wobbly. "I'm getting out of here while I still have a shred of dignity."  
  
She disappeared upstairs, then reappeared a few minutes later carrying her clothes. She changed in the kitchen.  
  
"I'll drive you home." He already had Doyle's keys in his hand.  
  
"Don't bother. But you can call me a cab." She was more subdued and a little sad. They waited in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The taxi arrived, and she paused on her way out the door.  
  
"You know," Karen said reflectively. "Your way was more honest. I knew at the outset you weren't after a wife. For whatever reason, and I think it's this mysterious job that has a lot to do with it, you can't maintain a real relationship. Ray can't do it either, but he doesn't understand why. It might not even be the same reason for him, I honestly don't know. He sends out mixed signals. He's trying, almost desperately, but he can't let anyone get close enough. I can't be mad at him, because it has to hurt to keep failing, but I think I should have stuck to apples." She slipped out the door.  
  
Bodie rubbed his face tiredly as he digested her last remark. Normally at this point in the proceedings, he would go upstairs and throw Doyle out of the bed. But this night had been anything but normal, so why tempt fate. He turned away from the stairs, feeling like an unwilling participant in a French bedroom farce. Before anyone else could join the cast, he walked over and locked the door.  
  
Shedding his clothes for the second time that night, he stretched out on the settee and pulled the blanket up over his hips. He shut his eyes, not surprised when he didn't fall asleep. A weird collage from the evening kept running through his mind...opening the door and seeing Karen, Jane's head tossing as she climaxed, Karen trailing Doyle up the stairs, Doyle and Karen fucking.  
  
An echo of his earlier arousal crept back to haunt him. He still didn't understand why he had turned on so fast. While he had been surprised when he realized that it was Karen perched up there, that was still no reason to react like a spotty-faced teenager. He'd let a few birds do the flying in his time. It wasn't usually his idea, but he'd enjoyed it.  
  
A slow throbbing began in his nether regions. He was a grown man in the privacy of his own home, there was no reason to be embarrassed. He kept telling himself that as his hand slid under the blanket to grasp his cock. His imagination made the needed adjustments, until he could feel Karen's legs draped over his hips, undulating over him. He sank into the fantasy and waited for the lightening to strike. Nothing happened.  
  
A change of tactic was in order. Maybe it was the girl and not the position after all. He flipped the image over until he was looking down at Karen and he was thrusting into her. Still nothing.  
  
The scene in his mind abruptly changed. Karen vanished. It was Ray Doyle looking up at him, Ray Doyle whose body he was thrusting into. Bodie's cock stood straight up.  
  
"What the hell?" Bodie's hand flew away from his cock. There had to be some kind of mistake; Doyle had the face that sank a thousand ships. It did no good; his recalcitrant organ gave a jump at the mere thought of the little mongrel.  
  
Bodie reached over his head and flipped on the light and sat up. Enough of this shit. It had been a dream, but now he was awake. It was that simple. Giving the situation a few minutes to subside, mind over meat, as it were, he calmly looked down. While the offending organ was no longer imitating a flagpole, it was still more substantial than it should be. "Go back to sleep, you're just confused. It's just the hair, the rest of him is male. You don't want him," he told it. Bodie had never spent enough time alone with his cock to give it a name.  
  
"Don't be so coy."  
  
Bodie's eyes darted left, then right, but unfortunately there was no one around to blame for the little voice he had heard. And while he had a very talented cock, it couldn't talk.  
  
"That was a long time ago." Bodie didn't normally talk to himself, but there was no one else to defend him. "Besides, I was in the jungle for weeks at a time."  
  
"You went without it for weeks at a time in the paras."  
  
Bodie winced. He didn't right fair. "Just shut up."  
  
"It's not that easy, William."  
  
He hated it when he called himself that, so he didn't answer.  
  
"Admit it, after you sorted out Krivas and the rest of that lot, you didn't say no to a quick one in the bushes."  
  
"It was just sex."  
  
"What was tonight, a squash game?"  
  
"That's not what I meant. I didn't walk around getting hard-ons thinking about any of them. We just got it on. It wasn't even that good.  
  
"Timmy Flynn."  
  
"Go to hell!" Bodie ended the one-sided argument by turning out the light. It was bad enough having an old girlfriend show up and screw up his psyche. Now it was an old...  
  
He refused categorically to call him a boyfriend. He wasn't even a friend. He'd been a boy, but then they all were, most barely old enough to shave, lured by promises of adventure. Little did they know that part of the adventure they were seeking meant getting screwed by the "rugged individualists leading a man's life away from the softness of civilization".  
  
Timmy Flynn. That young man had stirred up a hornet's nest. The prettiest boy in the camp, yet the core of true mercenaries that preyed on the gaggle of naive kids soon left him alone. Timmy didn't wait to be conquered, Timmy surrendered. His would-be conquerors didn't know how to deal with him. It was acceptable to fuck a man, but not to kiss him.  
  
He had let Timmy Flynn lure him away a few times. Bodie stretched lazily and smiled, as he trailed his ringers lightly over his lower stomach. Sex with Timmy had been closest to the real thing he had had in Angola. He had actually let Timmy get him out of all his clothes, and in Angola that was almost an engagement.  
  
He hand drifted lower as he remembered the eerie glow created by sunlight beating down on canvas. He could almost feel Timmy's hands, then it was Timmy's mouth moving over his body. Bodie parted his legs and got a firm grip on his hard cock, groaning as he imagined Timmy's mouth on him. But in his fantasy it wasn't Timmy's short blond hair in which his hands were clenched. Thick brown curls tickled his knuckles. That made him even hotter.  
  
This time he consciously conjured Ray Doyle, but he made a few mental adjustments to the picture. The eyes he had always described as popeyed become exotic, the hairy chest became lightly furred, and the fish lips became sensual. Now that the picture was fine-tuned, he began again. Yeah, that felt good. This time, when the dream Doyle's eyes glowed, Bodie knew that it was his doing. That was all it took. Bodie groaned as his cock spasmed.  
  
He wanted Doyle. The thought intrigued him.  
  
Sex hung around Doyle like a cloud, so much a part of him that noticing it was like commenting on the color of a bluebird. But Doyle couldn't focus it, settling for the bird he tripped over while missing two homing in from the sides, all attracted by whatever it was that Doyle had.  
  
And it worked both ways. If Ray was hot for it, Benny Hill in a dress would give him a twitch, although he was sure Doyle had never made it with a man. Life had been getting a bit boring of late. He was looking forward to the challenge.  
  
Ray Doyle would be the ultimate seduction.  
  


  
Bodie plucked the silver fork from the table and rubbed it on his cost sleeve until the offending spot disappeared. Then he laid it back down beside the knife and stepped away to admire his table.  
  
The linens were crisp, the cutlery perfectly arranged, and the plates spotless. Two candies sat in the center of the table. It was the usual set-up he used when trying to impress his date for the evening.  
  
It had taken a little while for him to actually decide to go through with this. During the day, Doyle was the same dependable but irritating little toad, someone he'd just as soon drown as sleep with. But the nighttime deluxe fantasy edition still beckoned. Reconciling the very different images had left him with a twilight version...sexy and seducible, but stroppy with it.  
  
He looked out the window. It was twilight.  
  
Doyle wasn't his partner tonight; he was the quarry. But Doyle wasn't aware of his role for the evening. Bodie had called him just a few minutes ago to tell him that Carrie had cancelled at the last minute. And rather than let all that food go to waste, why didn't he come over and eat?  
  
Bodie took a last look around the flat. The effect he was going for was casual elegance. It had always been a winning combination in the past. The secret was not overdoing it. There was nothing on the perfectly set table that looked like it was imported for the evening. The food was gourmet, but simple enough for claims of home-cooking to be believed.  
  
That's where a lot of blokes went wrong. They orchestrated an evening so obviously out of their depth, that the bird was left wondering what he turns back into at midnight. And instead of finding a glass slipper, there was dirty underwear, yesterday's dishes, and take-out tins stuffed behind the cushions of the sofa.  
  
Satisfied with the flat, he sat in the black leather chair. Everything was under control, as always. Good food, intelligent conversation, a little wine, and after he was sure what the answer would be, a smooth, yet sincere invitation to share his bed.  
  
The door buzzer sounded. This time instead of just releasing the outer lock and making Doyle let himself in, Bodie got up and opened the door. He slammed it shut again.  
  
"Bo-day," came an irritated voice, "Open the door." Doyle gave it a sharp kick.  
  
Bodie opened it and leaned out, looking to the left, then to the right, before drawing back, an expression of polite disinterest on his face. "You must have the wrong flat. I'm not expecting a mechanic."  
  
Doyle stood there dressed in his most disreputable jeans, a faded work shirt, and scruffy sneakers. The whole ensemble was smeared with grease.  
  
"Very amusing." Doyle said dryly as he strolled past. "I was working on my bike when you called." He walked toward the living room but stopped short at the sight of the table and whistled admiringly. "How unfortunate the Queen had to open Parliament and miss all this." Doyle commented in his poshest accent.  
  
"Actually it was Diana. We were going to work on strengthening the Windsor chin." Bodie confided airily.  
  
Doyle sniffed. "What's-her-name not coming across? I thought all you had to say was 'My name is Bodie'," here Doyle's voice dropped in a credible imitation, "and they swooned at your feet."  
  
Bodie gave Doyle a sharp shove. "Go on, I'll get you a drink."  
  
Bodie turned to the liquor cabinet. The evening was veering off in the wrong direction. No more sniping. Think twilight. Drinks in hand, he turned, then froze when he saw Doyle's jean clad bottom being lowered to his settee.  
  
"Jesus, Ray, don't get grease all over my furniture." Doyle froze halfway down then stood and turned to inspect himself, giving Bodie a clear view of the evening's objective as he twisted and tugged at the seat of his pants, looking. Apparently satisfied with the results, he plopped down. "All clear. Why are you still in that get-up?"  
  
"My jacket matches my pants, Ray," Bodie explained patiently, handing him a drink. "You should try it sometime." He paused, remembering his plan, then continued, all traces of sarcasm gone. "Besides, you're my guest."  
  
Doyle didn't comment, but neither did he look overly impressed as he downed his drink.  
  
"I'll get the food." Bodie escaped to the kitchen.  
  
Donning the oven mitt, he retrieved the food from the oven and placed it all on the tray, wondering why he was bothering. He should just mash it all together, throw it on a plastic plate and hurl it at the maddening little bugger.  
  
He set a very expensive bottle of wine on the tray. There was a less expensive bottle in the cabinet; it wasn't too late to switch them. He considered it carefully, but the expensive bottle stayed. He hadn't lost this yet. Drinks had been a disaster, but his strong suit was dinner. He was unstoppable across a candle-lit table. He carried the tray into the dining room...where he almost dropped it.  
  
The table was bare except for the two lonely candlesticks. His perfectly arranged cutlery was now strewn haphazardly on the coffee table in front of the television.  
  
"I knew you wouldn't want to miss the match," Doyle said helpfully. "Mmm, smells good. What is it?"  
  
It took a moment for Bodie's jaw to unclench. He took a deep breath, then carried the tray into the living room and unloaded it. "Medallions of beef chasseur in a madeira sauce, pureed carrots, and creme brulee for afters."  
  
"Sounds great. Where'd you get it?" Doyle reached toward the food.  
  
"Allow me," Bodie said smoothly, beating Doyle to the spoon. It was time for a calculated risk. "How do you know I didn't make it?"  
  
Doyle snorted. It was not an elegant sound. "Your birds don't really fall for that, do they?"  
  
Bodie filled both their plates, letting the matter of culinary responsibility drop. He was never one to cling to a sinking ship. He turned his attention to Doyle, whose attention was fixed on the television. "The match doesn't start for another half hour. Why don't you turn that thing off so we can talk?" He got up and turned off the set, not waiting for Doyle's opinion in the matter.  
  
Doyle looked at him as if he'd just suggested sending Macklin a Valentine. "Talk? About what?" Doyle took a bite of the carrots. "This is good."  
  
"Well..." Bodie had to think for a while. That damn bike was good for fifteen minutes. "What are you doing on your bike? I thought you had it a..." Bodie's voice trailed off as he watched Doyle separating his food into little piles. "What are you doing?"  
  
Doyle looked up. "Red meat," he said, as if he had just explained black holes, relativity, and life after death.  
  
"Do you mean to tell me you're not going to eat it?" The vein at Bodie's temple began throbbing. "You had a hamburger for lunch yesterday. Are you vegetarian on odd number days, now?"  
  
Doyle looked up, looked down at his plate, then back at Bodie. Wordlessly he mixed everything back together and took a bite.  
  
Bodie got up and turned on the television.  
  
He ate in silence, not paying any attention to Doyle's puzzled glances. Doyle finished quickly, then stood.  
  
"Thanks a lot, mate. I'll watch the match at home."  
  
Bodie grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Don't be stupid. Shut up and have some more wine."  
  
Doyle jerked loose, eyeing him warily, but he made no attempt to leave. "Sure, whatever you say."  
  
Then Bodie had an idea...a terrible, horrible, wonderful idea. "But first," he looked at Doyle from the corner of his eye, "let's get rid of these glasses. You couldn't drown a flea in one of these things." Bodie got up and quickly cleared the table except for the wine.  
  
In the kitchen, he left the dishes piled on the tray. Opening the cabinet, his eyes ranged over the glasses. Those were too small, the mugs too large, but the tumblers were just right. Get ready for your porridge, Goldilocks.  
  
He opened the other bottle of wine. Alcohol as a crutch he usually didn't need for seduction. But drastic circumstances demanded drastic measures. The whole dinner had been a mistake. Of course Doyle hadn't caught his signals. He wasn't tuned in on the proper frequency. Doyle would give getting seduced by his partner about the same odds as getting his salary quadrupled.  
  
Doyle was a sexual creature who required delicate handling. There was only one way to deal with him...get him drunk.  
  
He strode purposefully into the living room. The match was just beginning. Doyle was sitting cross-legged on the couch, obviously settled in for the duration.  
  
Bodie sat down and filled their glasses. "I'm gonna get comfortable." Slipping off his shoes and removing his jacket, he propped his feet on the coffee table after handing Doyle his glass.  
  
Doyle took it absently and started to drink. "Christ, Bodie," he exclaimed, looking at the six inches of wine in his glass.  
  
"Everything's in the dishwasher. You have any money on the match?" Bodie took a sip, a very small one, of his wine. "Good stuff."  
  
Doyle tried his. "Not bad, and no I don't have anything on this one."  
  
"Didn't have a spare 50p this week?" Bodie asked sarkily.  
  
For the first time that evening Bodie relaxed and began to enjoy himself. The match was a good one. He favored Liverpool just because Doyle liked Manchester, and they had a good time insulting each other's teams. It was ridiculously easy to keep Doyle's glass refilled while barely touching his own. There was a toast at every goal, every penalty, they even toasted the referees. Doyle was positively oozing good cheer by the half.  
  
Bodie found that watching Ray was as entertaining as the match. He'd forgotten...or just not paid any particular attention to all the touching that went on between them. Punching, slapping, hair tousling (in Doyle's case), and shoving was infused with a new intimacy, at least for Bodie.  
  
"Whoa, Bodie." Doyle's hand covered the top of his glass. "I won't be able to drive home."  
  
Bodie pushed his hand away, "Camp out here. Besides, we have 48 guaranteed hours off. How often do we get the chance to really let go? You're too for gone to drive anyway."  
  
Doyle sat up straight, looking affronted. "I'll have you know that I can handle my liquor."  
  
"Prove it." Bodie held up the second bottle, which was almost empty.  
  
Doyle moved his hand. "No problem."  
  
Bodie smothered a smile as he refilled Doyle's glass. Doyle's face was already slightly flushed, and his eyes looked a little unfocused. The shirt had opened button by button the more Doyle drank. By the time the match finished, Doyle's glass had been emptied two more times.  
  
"I knew I should have bet something," Doyle mourned, but not for long. "Your team had on lead boots," he added gleefully.  
  
Bodie, who couldn't care less, let him have his fun. After all, he was getting confident that he would be having his.  
  
"We're out of wine." Bodie turned off the television, then picked up the empty bottles and carried them over to the liquor cabinet. It was time for the knockout punch. He rummaged around until he found the bottle he was seeking. Blowing dust off it, he brought it back to the couch.  
  
"Try some of this." He filled Doyle's glass again, then his own.  
  
"What is it?" Doyle sipped it carefully. "Sweet," he commented, then took a longer drink.  
  
"Its called Irish Mist. Goes down smooth, doesn't it?" Bodie took a carefully small sip of his. The honey masked the potency of the Irish whiskey in the liqueur. "So, how's Karen. She seemed like a nice girl, certainly too good for you."  
  
Doyle shrugged. "We aren't seeing each other. Haven't since we doubled with you and Jane."  
  
Bodie draped a consoling arm across Doyle's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "You've got to quit scaring them away. Clean your bathroom once in a while."  
  
Doyle relaxed into his grip and made quick work of his drink. Bodie refilled the glass, put his arm back around the thin shoulders.  
  
"That was three weeks ago, umm...what have you been doing for it since then?" Bodie asked.  
  
Doyle looked askance at him. "For what?" Comprehension lit the round face. "You're a dirty bugger."  
  
"I've only your best interest at heart," Bodie said paternally. "Besides, I have to live with you...and you get very stroppy, make that stroppier than usual, when you do without. I thought you had to have it all the time. Remember the weekend Sue and I doubled with you and Margaret? You two were always sneaking off for a quick one. It got so that I was afraid to open the closet door for fear of interruptin'."  
  
Doyle's head fell back, and he groaned lushly. "Margaret." he said lustily, giving each syllable three seconds, and shivered. "She was something."  
  
"Hot for it, was she?" Bodie asked knowingly, giving Doyle's bony knee a squeeze. His hand lingered. It was like taking candy from a baby.  
  
"Anytime, anywhere," Doyle smiled, a particularly evil one.  
  
Bodie leaned closer, letting his arm drape lower on Doyle's chest while the hand on Doyle's knee inched up. "Come on, tell Uncle Bodie about it."  
  
Doyle looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. "Your kitchen, for one."  
  
"Go on," Bodie sold disbelievingly.  
  
"'S true. Remember when I brought her over here for dinner. You had what's her name here...you should just number 'em. Anyway, I said I'd make the coffee and Margaret followed me into the kitchen."  
  
"You attacked her?" Bodie's fingers made idle circles on Doyle's chest.  
  
"Nah, she attacked me. Had my pants around my ankles before I could stop her."  
  
"Very oral, was she?" The body pressed to his was restless, and Bodie could see a telltale swelling at the crotch. He moved the hand he had on Doyle's knee a bit higher. Truth be told, he was getting turned on himself. Doyle felt good in his arms.  
  
An earthy chuckle was his answer. "You were in the living room yelling 'hurry up in there' and I was holding on for dear life, scared to death that you would come blundering through the door."  
  
"I remember now. That was the night you came out with a coffee pot of hot water, wasn't it?" Doyle's head was turned toward him, practically resting on his shoulder. Bodie lowered his head until their foreheads touched. His hands inched closer to their goals. "I'm sorry I missed it."  
  
"Bodie?" Doyle squeaked, and tried to sit up.  
  
"What's wrong," Bodie asked innocently, knowing damn well what the problem was.  
  
Doyle cleared his throat. "Not that I think you mean anything by it, of course, but that's my nipple you're messin' with."  
  
"Really?" Bodie's voice was incredulous. "This needs to be investigated." He slapped Doyle's hands away and teased open his shirt, exposing a little brown nipple. "Why so it is." This time he pinched it, rolling it around in his fingers, while his other hand stroked up and down inside of the lean thigh. "And why shouldn't I mean anything by it. Why else would I be messin' with it?"  
  
"You've had your joke, so knock it off." Doyle laughed shakily and tried to pull away, but he sank back dizzily. "Christ, I'm so drunk my lips are numb."  
  
"No joke, sunshine." Bodie tugged Doyle's shirt out of his pants and finished unbuttoning it. He looked pointedly at Doyle's crotch. "That doesn't think I'm joking."  
  
Doyle was breathing heavily and swallowing repeatedly.  
  
Bodie turned Doyle's face toward his. "I can suck your cock for you," he promised seductively. "Anything you want."  
  
"Bodie..."  
  
Bodie twisted around, so he could get a firmer grip. "Shhh. Just let it happen." He ran his hand up and down Doyle's back while feasting on his neck. He raised his head and was gratified to see Doyle's heavy breathing and dazed expression.  
  
"But Bodie..."  
  
"Feels good, doesn't it?" He leaned toward Doyle's mouth, eager to possess the tempting lips.  
  
"I'm gonna be sick." Doyle turned his head and promptly threw up.  
  
Bodie jumped back. "Jesus Christ!" Doyle did it again. "Get to the sodding loo." Doyle started to stand but began spewing again. "On second thought, stay there." Bodie lunged for the ashcan and got it under Doyle before the next wave.  
  
Bodie closed his eyes, but opened them when he felt something wet. He looked down. His trouser leg glinted wetly and Doyle was soaked. The carpet... He didn't even want to think about it. "Are you finished," he snapped.  
  
Doyle nodded weekly, but still clutched the can.  
  
"Can you walk?"  
  
"Course I can." Doyle struggled to stand but couldn't quite make it. Bodie took his arm, none too gently, and tugged. "'S not my fault. Shouldn't've eaten red meat."  
  
"Just shut up." Bodie pushed and pulled until he got him upstairs to the bathroom where he tugged off Doyle's wet shirt and pants, leaving the purple and yellow briefs. Despite his anger, he still held Doyle's head as he gave up the rest of the alcohol and the dinner. Bodie flushed the toilet, making a mental note to eliminate glazed carrots from future menus.  
  
"Come on then. Let's get you cleaned-up." Bodie propped his limp charge against the sink while he wet a cloth.  
  
"I'm sorry," Doyle said contritely, getting an accidental mouthful of soap for his troubles. "Bodie, I said I was sorry. Don't be angry with me."  
  
Bodie rinsed the cloth. He'd forgotten what a sloppy drunk Doyle could be. But by now, Bodie's innate sense of fairness had kicked in. He shouldn't have pushed all that liquor on him. If he had known Doyle was this far gone, he wouldn't have tried it on, He wanted Doyle squiffy, not comatose.  
  
"I know you are, Sunshine." He finished wiping him down. "Here, rinse out your mouth, then drink some water."  
  
Doyle meekly did as he was told, then handed back the glass. Bodie led him into the bedroom, then deposited him on the bed, carefully turning him on his side, and placed an ash can beside the bed.  
  
"The can's right beside you. Use it." He set on the bed and rubbed his thumb slowly over Doyle's temple until he fell asleep. This wasn't what he'd been planning to do to a nearly naked Ray Doyle. "Sleep tight."  
  
The smell hit him halfway down the stairs. He didn't know where to start. Doyle had thoughtfully managed to hit the settee, the table, the carpet, and...his shoes. His brand-new dress shoes were filled with it. Bodie rolled up his sleeves and set to work. The little bit of sympathy he'd mustered for his ailing partner disappeared completely.  
  
Close to an hour later, he emptied the bucket of soapy water in the sink. The shoes were a total loss, and if they weren’t, he didn't want to know, preferring to throw them away rather than cleaning them. He leaned against the sink and sniffed. That smell was hanging around him like a cloud, but he couldn't pinpoint the source. He looked down and groaned. His right trouser leg was stiff.  
  
Revenge was uppermost in his mind as he stripped off his pants and threw them into the sink to soak, but he couldn't think of anything nasty enough. He padded out to the living room. It was almost two in the morning and he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep.  
  
But where? The question brought him up short. The couch was still damp and Doyle was passed out in his bed. Bodie sighed wearily; there was only one thing for it. Taking a quilt from the closet, he walked over to the black leather chair and made himself comfortable as possible. It was going to be a long night.  
  


  
Bodie groaned himself awake and looked around blearily. It took a minute for everything to focus, but when it did, he groaned again. He was lying across the chair, his legs and shoulder hanging over the arms. Every muscle was stiff. But the burgeoning ache in his head made all the others fade in comparison. Moving like a geriatric patient, he slowly turned in the chair until he was sitting straight.  
  
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Swallowing was a mistake. His mouth was dry and tested awful. He'd been careful to make Doyle drink water before passing out, but he'd forgotten that basic precaution for himself. His hangover was typical of this whole woe-begone episode. It had been a disastrous evening and a miserable night. The only thought giving him the least bit of pleasure was knowing that as bad as he felt, Doyle would be feeling even worse.  
  
This was all Doyle's fault anyway. Bodie sat there glaring at the ceiling, above which Doyle was sleeping. Visions of going upstairs and shaking the little rat out of bed brought a faint smile to the pouting lips. Nah, that was too good for him. Maybe a nice pail of cold water, that thought had some appeal, At this point, he didn't even care that he would be soaking his own bed.  
  
He massaged his temples, trying to get rid of the annoying buzz in his head, then slumped in the chair and propped his feet on the table, wallowing in self-pity at the injustices of life. Doyle had absolutely no class. He was an obtuse, barbaric...  
  
Something moved across the floor. It was the headphone cable. It jerked left, then right, then farther right before giving a little jump. Tracing the cord back he saw that the stereo was on. The annoying buzz was music, not his hangover. The extension cable for the headphones had been one of Doyle's 'practical' gifts. Practical in Doyle's vocabulary meant buying something for Bodie that he wanted to use when visiting. Other such thoughtful gifts included a U-2 album, a vegetable crisper, and a second alarm clock.  
  
Bodie pushed himself out of the chair and followed the cord across the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen where he stopped and stared in amazement. A God who allowed this was capricious, if not cruel.  
  
Doyle was attached to the other end of the headphones, dressed in the same blue dress shirt Karen had donned. He was dancing around the kitchen, following whatever beat was filling the headphones while at the some time, making breakfast. A hand clutching an egg-turner shot up, Doyle's hips gave a series of pelvic thrusts that would have put a stripper to shame. Then, he moonwalked over to the refrigerator, his sock covered feet gliding smoothly across the linoleum, opened it, and brought out a pitcher of orange juice, all without missing a beat.  
  
But even worse than the disgusting show of energy was the appearance of the man himself. Doyle was clean-shaven and his hair looked newly washed; Bodie grimaced as he ran a hand over his stubbly cheeks, then through his stray hair. If Doyle was feeling any pain, he wasn't showing it...that in itself was an impossibility. Where was the justice? Doyle should be writhing in agony, his body wracked by dry heaves, and so hung over that whispering would be unbearable. It was the least he could do after the evening he had put Bodie through.  
  
"You little bastard," Bodie said evenly, but Doyle bopped on, oblivious to his audience. "Do you know how much trouble you've caused me? I spent 40 quid on dinner, another 20 on the wine, not to mention the 65 pound shoes you barfed in. I've a headache, I'm stiff from that sodding chair, and you're dancing around here like a deranged Pip!"  
  
Bodie raged on even though Doyle still had no idea he was being spoken to, let alone watched. "You could at least have the decency to suffer." Doyle raised both arms, hiking up the shirt, revealing his purple and yellow bikinis. "You flash it around, don't you, Sunshine. Well, just for the record, I'm through chasing it. This is going to end, one way or the other, right now. Forget wining and dining, because it's now or never."  
  
The unheard must have changed, because Doyle started undulating to a slower rhythm. He stood, nipping the eggs, swaying from side to side, his free arm now propped on a jutting hip. The longer Bodie watched, the more determined he became. "Karen said you were spontaneous. Try this."  
  
He strode angrily over to the still oblivious Doyle, grabbed his arms, and spun him around, wrapping them both in the cord. Before the startled figure could react, Bodie pulled him forward and kissed him squarely on the lips. When he finished he stepped back, but held onto Doyle's arms.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Doyle's eyes were wide open in amazement, the egg turner still clutched in his hand.  
  
Bodie winced, his ears ringing. "Take those... TAKE THOSE DAMN THINGS... Jesus Christ, you can't hear a bloody thing in there," Bodie swore softly as he plucked the headphones from Doyle's head, carelessly dropping them to the floor.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Doyle repeated at the proper decibel level.  
  
"Kissing you," Bodie said defiantly. Then he did it again, more soundly this time.  
  
"I know that, you cretin." Doyle sputtered when Bodie finished. "Is this some kind of punishment for puking in your shoes? Get your hands off me."  
  
"Do you always equate foreplay with punishment? Kinky, Ray, very kinky." Bodie lowered his mouth, but the curly head twisted away.  
  
"Foreplay? You're crazy! Y..." His words were smothered by another kiss. He wrenched away when Bodie's tongue slipped post his startled lips and wiped his forearm over his mouth. "This isn't funny anymore.  
  
"Wasn't meant to be," Bodie said patiently as he stood with his arms folded, calmly regarding his furious partner. Doyle was standing with his fists on his hips, his foot angrily tapping and his face twisted into a scowl. "Come over here and kiss me."  
  
Doyle looked at him as if he was demented. "No."  
  
"Why not?" Bodie asked reasonably.  
  
Doyle rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this. Why should I?"  
  
"Because I want you to." Bodie moved a step closer. "Humor me, you'll like it. Don't tell me you've never thought about it?"  
  
"Maybe I have," Doyle admitted, "but not with anyone in particular. Certainly not with you."  
  
Bodie raised a disbelieving eyebrow.  
  
Doyle flushed. "Okay. Maybe once or twice."  
  
"Here's your chance." Bodie flashed him the 'I'm beautiful grin', knowing he looked damn good in his boxers.  
  
A wary curiosity lit the green eyes, but Doyle shook his head. "It's not my scene. Besides, you taste awful."  
  
Bodie brushed post Doyle, a lot closer than was absolutely necessary, and picked up the pitcher of orange juice from the counter. His eyes never left Doyle's as he took a swig from it. Of course, it would have been a more effective gesture if he hadn't dribbled juice down his bare chest. Doyle snickered at him.  
  
"You can lick it off." Bodie said smoothly.  
  
Doyle drew a sharp breath and gulped audibly, all traces of laughter gone, the air suddenly crackling with tension. "There's nothing to be afraid of."  
  
Doyle bristled at the patronizing tone. "Don't flatter yourself."  
  
Bodie shrugged. "So, get over here and kiss me."  
  
Doyle took a few steps toward Bodie, then stopped. "I don't have to prove anything to you," Doyle said hotly.  
  
"Then prove it to yourself."  
  
Doyle gulped again and looked around as if he was looking for an escape route. "All right," he said finally. "But I'm just doing this to shut you up. This is just a test, it doesn't mean anything. And keep your hands to yourself," he added, brandishing the egg-turner.  
  
Bodie ceremoniously put them behind his back. "Come on then, Einstein. I haven't got all day."  
  
"Oh, charmin'," Doyle said flatly, but he stepped forward and kissed Bodie's waiting lips. The kiss was firm, but short. He stepped back, and stood, his head tilted to one side, looking speculative. "Nuthin'," he finally announced. "Like I was kissin' me Mum."  
  
"That's because you kissed me like I was your Mum." Bodie brought his arms from behind his back and held them out. "Open your mouth this time."  
  
Doyle looked at him fiercely. "If you're having me on, I'll rip out your Achilles tendons, braid 'em, dry 'em and sell 'em for dog chews."  
  
"Quit pratting around and get over here." Doyle stepped forward, looking like he was facing a firing squad. Bodie carefully put a hand on his lower back and pulled him closer and laced the fingers of his other hand in the thick damp curls. "You're standing there like a sack of grain. Put your arms around me."  
  
Grudgingly, Doyle looped his arms around Bodie's waist.  
  
"Now look up here and open your mouth." Doyle's skeptical eyes met his and his mouth parted slightly. "That's better."  
  
Bodie leaned into the kiss, keeping the pressure light and unthreatening. He licked over the parted lips at first, teasing until they slowly parted, only then taking what had been offered. Doyle grunted in surprise, but gradually accepted the invader.  
  
"I knew you'd like it," Bodie whispered when they had come up for air.  
  
Doyle reached for his ear and tugged him back. "Pompous ass." His teeth captured Bodie's lower lip and tugged on it. "Shut up and kiss me." He wriggled, rearranging arms and redoing the angles. "I want to make this a fair test." His eyes dared Bodie to make anything of it.  
  
"Of course," Bodie said formally. "Shall we proceed?" The next kiss started deep, then went impossibly deeper. Doyle's tongue felt like it was counting his fillings. He finally pulled free, grateful he'd already lost his tonsils. "Let's go upstairs."  
  
Doyle took a deep breath, then exhaled noisily. "I'm going to regret this, but what the hell."  
  
Bodie wasn't entirely successful in swallowing his grin or triumph...even when he realized that he was trailing sappily after Doyle.  
  
When they got through the door of the bedroom, Bodie grabbed Doyle's shirt tail and tugged sharply, pulling Doyle backwards where he landed with an 'oof' of surprise squarely against Bodie's chest. Doyle was chuckling, but he tried to pull away.  
  
Bodie wrapped his arms around the thin body and rested his head on the bony shoulder, then proceeded to walk them, lock-stepped, over to the full length mirror on the bathroom door.  
  
"What are you doin'?" Doyle grinned at their reflection. They looked like something from a cheap horror flick...The Thing With Two Heads. Doyle stuck his arms behind his back and laughed outright at the composite version until his two new hands began unbuttoning his shirt. "Let me go, I'll do it."  
  
Bodie shook his head. "You had your experiment, Einstein. It's my turn." Bodie unplastered his chest from Doyle's back just long enough to let the shirt fall to the floor then grinned at their double image in the mirror. "I always wondered what it would be like to have a hairy chest."  
  
Doyle snorted at this, but he didn't pull away. It was intriguing to watch Bodie's fingers playing in his chest hair.  
  
"Soft." Bodie said bemusedly. His hands followed the distinctive paths of the hair. "Does it always lay like this?"  
  
Doyle looked for any sign of teasing in Bodie's soft question but couldn't find any. Still he couldn't help the flush that covered his face. "I don't comb it, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Does it ever get tangled?" Bodie pinched some longer strands between his thumb and forefinger and twisted, then watched intently as the delicate strands slowly fell apart.  
  
"You know what I always wanted to see?" Doyle asked shyly.  
  
Bodie's fingers stilled, and his eyes sought Doyle's in the mirror. "What?"  
  
"Don't laugh, but I always wanted to know what I'd look like with muscles."  
  
"Spoken in the finest tradition of scientific inquiry," Bodie said heartily, wanting to tease Doyle out of his obvious embarrassment. "Get ready."  
  
Doyle grinned at him. "Ready."  
  
Bodie raised his arms, bent them at the elbows, and slowly pumped his biceps, holding them there while Doyle quizzically regarded his new physique.  
  
"Powerful," Doyle finally whispered. "And sexy."  
  
Bodie had been prepared for a sarky comment. Sincere honesty was something he wasn't used to getting from his prickly partner. Their eyes met and held. Bodie released his pose and wrapped his arms around Doyle, hugging him close.  
  
"The bed's right behind us."  
  
Doyle nodded his reply.  
  
They moved to opposite sides of the bed. Bodie took off his shorts, then Doyle skinned out of his.  
  
Doyle cleared his throat nervously. "I think we ought to or" on the parameters of this experiment."  
  
"I'll defer to your judgement, Doctor." Bodie got into bed.  
  
Doyle joined him. "But you've had previous experience in this field."  
  
"I dabbled briefly a long time ago before deciding to specialize in another area." Bodie scooted to the middle of the bed, then rolled onto his side. Doyle hadn't moved. "The two fields share many common techniques. But you're going to have to discover them for yourself."  
  
Doyle shifted until they were laying chest to chest. "Come on then, Dr. Frankenstein."  
  
It was Bodie's mouth that did the seeking, but upon contact he ceded control to Doyle, letting him set the pace. Soon, they were plastered together, their hips undulating together. It was Bodie who finally had to tear himself away, much to Doyle's vocal displeasure.  
  
"We've got to slow down or this'll be over too soon." Bodie gave them both time to cool down before he pushed Doyle onto his back. He licked and kissed his way across the soft chest, stopping only to worry vulnerable nipples with his teeth, as Doyle's hands played in his hair. His mouth then drifted lower, but before he could get to Doyle's jutting cock, his hair was pulled sharply. "Ouch!"  
  
"My turn," Doyle managed to gasp out between panting breaths.  
  
A man of his word, Bodie moved back up the bed and lay on his back and waited while Doyle shakily sat up and leaned over him, an arm on either side of Bodie's head.  
  
"I have to lick off that nasty orange juice."  
  
Bodie groaned as a wet tongue lopped over his chest in long lush strokes. Doyle's tongue nicked over his nipple. "Didn't spill any there."  
  
"Can't be too careful," Doyle grunted as he switched his attention to the other nipple.  
  
Bodie drifted, letting the sensations carry him. Doyle's mouth and hands were charting a course over his body. The destination seemed to be south, but it wasn't a direct flight. Unfortunately, the trip was interrupted. Bodie raised his head to see what was causing the delay.  
  
Doyle was regarding Bodie's cock intently, his hand poised above it.  
  
"Touch me, Ray." It took a moment, but Doyle's hand slowly trailed down to his cock. First, he brushed it with the backs of his fingers, pulling when it twitched in response.  
  
"Never touched another bloke before. Feels strange." Doyle's index finger moved up the length of it. "This as big as it gets?"  
  
Doyle was looking at it quizzically, as if he was buying fruit at the market. Bodie found himself in the ridiculous position of examining his own cock. "It gets a little longer, I guess."  
  
The busy finger then found the vein running up the cock. "Yeah, that gets me going to," Doyle confided after Bodie lunged up, groaning.  
  
He squirmed under Doyle's intense scrutiny, but forced himself to remain still as Doyle continued to poke, stroke and explore, reminding himself that this curiosity was only natural.  
  
"Bodie? Does your cock..."  
  
"Jesus Christ, Ray, why don't you borrow a book from the library..." Bodie trailed off. Doyle's shoulders were shaking, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't from passion. "You little turd."  
  
Bodie grabbed him, pulled him down to the bed, and pinned him there with a highly illegal hold. Doyle gasped, every muscle tense, his eyes wild. Doyle returned the gesture and they began pumping each other.  
  
"Harder." Bodie instructed, pleased when Doyle found the perfect rhythm.  
  
"I'm getting close." Doyle warned, several minutes later.  
  
Bodie immediately let him go, pulling away from Doyle's grasp at the same time. "Lay back."  
  
"Why?" Doyle asked suspiciously.  
  
"I'm going to suck you off," Bodie said as offhandedly as he could.  
  
"Oh." Doyle's cock jerked alarmingly. "You don't have to do that." This avowal would have been more convincing if he hadn't already been laying down looking like a kid before Christmas.  
  
"Just shut up." Bodie lowered his head and stared at the long, slender cock. It had been a long time since he had done this. He placed his lips against the tip and slowly sank onto it until his lips were brushing wiry hair. Knowing that Doyle couldn't take much more, he didn't muck about. He sucked firmly, Doyle's delirious moaning music to his ears.  
  
When Doyle finally let go the neighbors two floors on either side probably heard.  
  
Bodie sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "Like that, did you?" he asked, looking triumphantly at Doyle's sprawled, thoroughly sated figure.  
  
"What about you?" Doyle finally asked, looking at Bodie's erection. "Do you want me to...?"  
  
There was certainty inside Bodie telling him that he'd have other chances at Doyle's virtue. He didn't have to push for everything today. He smiled, bemused at the warm feeling it gave him.  
  
"Nah." He tousled the curls fondly. "Just turn over."  
  
Doyle's eyes widened in alarm. "I didn't mean that. I meant I'd suck..."  
  
Bodie's hand covered the babbling mouth. "I know that, blockhead. Trust me.  
  
Doyle rolled over but jumped when Bodie's hands settled on his arse.  
  
"Come on, Einstein. Everything else has been pretty much the same. Try something new." Bodie parted the cleft, stroking it with his fingers. Doyle groaned when he replaced the fingers with his cock. Temptation beckoned, but he resisted, settling for thrusting his aching cock against the perfect arse, but not into it. There was time. That thought was with him as he came.  
  
"Bodie," came a muffled voice. "Shift off. Bed's wet."  
  
Reluctantly, Bodie moved away, grinning when Doyle immediately scooted after him. "You randy little toad. You came again, didn't you."  
  
"You're a smug bastard," Doyle said disgustedly, but there was no heat in his words, and he didn't mutter a protest when Bodie pulled him into his arms.  
  
"Well?" Bodie asked expectantly, pleased with himself.  
  
"Well what?" Doyle asked sleepily.  
  
"Did you like it?" Bodie knew the answer, but still wanted to hear it.  
  
Doyle raised his head and looked at Bodie considering. "Yeah, I liked it well enough," he finally allowed. "It's different, but it's the same." He paused, as if trying to find the right words. "Apples and oranges. Yeah, that's it, it’s like apples and oranges.  
  
Bodie's mouth dropped open. Then he laughed until tears were rolling down his cheeks and Doyle was threatening to kill him.  
  
He never did explain.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 1987/88. Except for removing some unnecessary commas, the story story has not be re-edited. I do not apologize for anything in a 30 year old story that offends anyone today. 
> 
> This story was published in the zine In the Public Interest #2 from Sunshine Press. I copied the version in The Circuit Archive because I am lazy.


End file.
